


A Nice Compliment

by Lee Normandeau (Miri_Thompson)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, But not canon Godstiel, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Gen, Godstiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri_Thompson/pseuds/Lee%20Normandeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cas, are you God?” It is a nice compliment, but Cas answers differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nice Compliment

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate ending to Season Five’s Swan Song. It only works if the show really had ended there . . . even though I steal some dialogue from Season Six. Many thanks to Theatregirl7299 and Clodia Metelli for the encouragement and the beta!

Dean knelt there, stunned. His face was battered and bloodied, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was Sammy. And Sammy was gone, way gone. Way beyond his reach. Maybe forever.

And Bobby—was he dead? Probably. Dean couldn’t muster the willpower to crawl over to him and find out.

Damn it. Some part of him thought that maybe he should pray—but with Cas gone, who was he supposed to pray to? No one else up there seemed to give a damn.

He didn’t hear the sound this time. There was no soft, weird wooshing to let him know that Cas had deigned to wing his way over and show his face. He just felt the son of a bitch staring at him. But that was impossible . . .

 Dean twisted around a little and looked up. The sky hurt his eyes—but that was Castiel standing there in the gray glow of it, looking down at him with this weird mix of love and compassion and apology.

“Cas, you’re alive?”

The angel—the nerd angel in that stupid trench coat of his—reached out and touched his fingertips to Dean’s forehead. “I’m better than that.”

Dean felt the injuries knit themselves. He felt the pain melt away. The physical pain, anyway. Inside he was all hollow and numb and yet somehow still aching. But as he stood up, something in his brain finally clicked. “Cas, are you God?”

There was a beat of silence. “That’s a nice compliment.”

Dean stared at him and then slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure I meant it as one.”

Cas didn’t answer that. He just stood there for a moment, looking distant and even more apologetic. Then he turned to Bobby.

But Dean grabbed him first. “Cas, answer me.”

A small smile tugged at Cas’s lips as he turned back. “Have you ever noticed how often you give me orders?”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean kept a tight grip on him. He wasn’t in the mood for that smile—not now. Not with Sammy gone. “And I know you can beat the crap out of me again or smite me or send me back to hell. But I still need to know.”

Cas put his hand on top of Dean’s, and then removed both from his shoulder. “Are you sure you want me to answer?”

“So you are?”

“Dean—”

“You fucking bastard!” Dean swung at his face. Cas didn’t block and didn’t duck as Dean’s fist slammed into his cheek. “All this time—you could have fixed everything.”

Castiel didn’t even wince.

“What the hell was all of this? Just some game to you?”

“No. It was never a game.”

Dean sent his fist cracking into Cas’s jaw. “Bring back Sammy. You bring him back now!”

Still no reaction—Cas didn’t waver or retreat. His face wasn’t even bloody or bruised. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“Yes it is! If you’re God, you can do whatever you want. Bring him back!”

“Rest now, Dean.” Cas raised his hand. “I’ll see to Bobby. And then we’ll talk.”

“No!” Dean stepped back, fists still raised, trying to keep out of reach. “Listen to me, you junkless sissy—”

But somehow Castiel’s finger tips were already back on his forehead. Dean crumpled to the ground before he could finish the insult.

 

~*~

 

He came to slowly, the scent of ponderosa pines dragging him into consciousness. Dean stretched a little. The pull of his clothes made him realize that he was still dressed and lying on top of covers. Probably near an open window.

He opened his eyes—and almost jumped. “Jesus, Cas, how many times have we talked about this?”

The angel—or God or whatever he was—stayed where he was seated, next to Dean’s bed. “Right. You don’t like me to watch over you while you’re sleeping.”

“It’s creepy.” Dean sat up and looked around. He was in a cabin—probably out west in the mountains, judging by the trees and the way the air felt. “Where did you bring me?”

“The Tahoe region, more or less.” Cas shrugged. “I’ve always liked this spot.”

“Where’s Bobby?”

“Home. He’s fine.”

“What about Baby?”

“Your Impala is in Bobby’s driveway.”

“Okay.” Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, so that they were facing each other. “Let’s get this talk over with. So the answer is yes—you are God.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” The knowledge settled into Dean’s gut faster than he liked. Shouldn’t he be more freaked out by this? How could Cas be God? “Right. Otherwise you’d have just denied it when I asked.”

“Yes.”

 Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. “So why won’t you bring Sam back?”

“Dean, I am not all powerful.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Cas blinked. “How am I being unclear?”

Dean shut his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air. If he wanted answers from Cas, he was going to have to let the divine dork explain things his way. “Okay, buddy.” He opened his eyes again. “How could you not be all powerful? You’re—you’re God!”

 “If I let myself be all powerful,” Cas said, “there would be no room for you.”

 “Me? What are you talking about?”

“Well, not just you. All of you. All of creation. It couldn’t exist. That’s why I can only let myself operate within certain strict parameters.”

“Cas, I have no idea what you mean.”

“All right.” Cas moved his chair a little closer. “Dean, in my—my full power and glory, all of creation would be just an extension of me. If you existed, it would only be as my agent, mindlessly carrying out my will. For creation to work, I had to withdraw from it. I had to create space so I couldn’t overshadow it. I had to—well, limit myself.”

“Okay.” Dean scrunched up his brow, thinking that over. “That makes a crazy kind of sense, I guess. But, look, you brought me back. That was within your—your parameters. So why not Sammy?”

It took Cas a long minute to answer. And the whole time he kept staring at Dean, his blue eyes intent and serious. “I am not refusing to help Sam. But what is in my power to do for Sam at the moment may not satisfy you.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t explain that. Not now.”

“Damn it, Cas, you’ve got to do better than that!”

Cas sighed, shaking his head a little. “Dean, I could explain everything to you. But to do that, I’d have to make you see this all unfolding from my point of view. That would give you the assurance you crave—and peace besides.”

“Then do it.” Dean knew there wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his voice.

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes and gave him his best what-the-fuck look.

“Some humans choose this path—but I don’t think it’s what you want.” Cas gave him a sour smile. “I would end up overpowering you, and your will would merge completely with mine. You wouldn’t be you anymore. And us merging would not help Sam.”

This was too much to take in. Dean shook himself, dismissing this whole stupid conversation. He would puzzle it out later. “Fine. What can you do for Sam right now?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Nothing I can explain to you right now. I need you to trust me.”

“No. You’ve got to give me something.”

Castiel actually chuckled at that. “You’re a good man, Dean. A righteous man. But faith has never been your strong point.”

Dean grunted—this was getting him nowhere. “Look, tell me this much. Are you you?”

Cas cocked his head at him.

“I mean, you as I know you. Is that really you, or has this all been an act while you disguised your real—I don’t know. Personality?”

“I have not disguised my personality from you.”

“So God is this nerdy, dorky tax accountant type with a trench coat?”

Cas looked down at his coat and then shrugged. “You know my true form might burn your eyes out—it might even obliterate you. But . . . well, to the extent that I can explain myself to you, yes. This ‘nerdy, dorky tax accountant type’ is me.”

Dean rolled his eyes again. “Great. That’s fucking awesome.”

 

~*~

 

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring into the fireplace. It was late now, but he and Cas hadn’t spoken much during the day. Maybe because Dean’s brain was kind of frozen, stuck on how weird it was that this whole thing with Cas-being-God didn’t feel weird. There was a rightness about the knowledge, like somehow it all made sense to his gut, even if his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Could he trust Cas? The angel had seen him through some rough times. But God had seemed to hide his face from the horrors facing humanity. How could Dean square those two facts?

Okay, God apparently wasn’t all powerful—by His own choice. How did Cas put it? He had to put limits on himself to make sure he didn’t overpower creation. Or something like that. But, come on, Cas could have done more for the people suffering down here than he did.

“Here.”

Dean blinked. Cas was suddenly crouching beside him, offering him a steaming mug. A steaming mug that smelled good, so Dean accepted it.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas sat down beside him and stared into the fireplace as well.

Dean took a gulp. Coffee and whiskey mixed strong—it would do. “Tell me something, Cas.”

“Yes?”

“Why create humans in the first place? I mean, did you really want a bunch of hairless apes wrecking everything else you made? And don’t even get me started on angels. They fucked you over good too.”

“I wanted company.”

“Company?”

“Yes. Being a single, all-powerful being gets rather lonely.”

Dean stared at him over the coffee mug. “Oh.”

They sat together in silence for a while. Dean finally broke it.

“You lied to me, you know.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “I lied?”

“Yeah. Pretending to rebel, for instance. And remember that whole story you told about searching for God? And there were lots of other things.”

“Ah. Well, I was incognito. And, metaphorically speaking, it wasn’t all a lie . . .”

“Cas, please.”

“Very well.” He gave Dean another one of those small smiles. “I apologize. But, remember, you had trouble believing in angels, let alone in God.”

Dean smiled back—a little. “Yeah, that’s true. But you know something else? You’ve got to tell me what you see in me, man. I mean, there are all these people down here who are more deserving of your attention.”

“Stop thinking of yourself as unworthy, Dean. You are a good person.”

“Thanks, but I don’t see it.” He took another gulp.

“Well, you are. And even if you weren’t, you would still be one of my favorites.”

Dean nearly choked. “Dude, that’s just wrong. You can’t play favorites!”

“Why not?”

“Cas, what the hell does that mean? Do you like me better than Sam? Better than Bobby and every other hunter?”

“You and I share a more profound bond.”

“But that’s wrong. You can’t be like this. Not if you’re really God.”

Cas gave him this look, like he was genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know why this seems so strange to you. I love all of creation, Dean. But how could I not have my favorites?”

“Because you’ve got to work on—on, you know.  Being more equal.”

“I’m afraid that, sometimes, that’s impossible. You should know this from your own family. Your father loved both you and Sam—it was a powerful love—but he loved Sam more.”

This time Dean really did choke.

Cas patted his back. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know?”

“Oh, I knew. It’s just that—” He broke off, laughing as he wiped his mouth. “Man, you need an edit button.”

“Oh. Well, you can help me acquire one.”

Dean laughed a little more. “Maybe. Look, tell you what. You want to play favorites? Fine. But that means you do special favors for me, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good. I want you to start with Sam.”

Cas’s eyes were solemn as he put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I can’t promise to help Sam as soon or as much as you want. But I will help him, Dean. Do you trust me enough to believe that?”

Dean stared down into the mug. Did he? “No.”

“I see.”

“Cas—look, not yet. I want to trust you, man. But this is Sam.”

“Dean, I will never abandon him.”

 There was a rock certainty to the words. A certainty that drew Dean’s eyes back to Cas’s face. “I don’t believe that—not yet. I don’t trust you like that. But I’ll keep trying to.”

Apparently that was enough. “Thank you.” Cas stood up. “You should finish that and get some sleep. I’ll bring you to Bobby’s in the morning.”

“All right.”

“And Dean—do you wish to remember this?”

Dean looked up. “Remember what? These conversations? That you’re God?”

“Yes.”

“I—” Dean broke off again. Then, at length, he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I want to remember all this. I’ll keep it to myself, if that’s what you need, but I don’t want to forget.”

“Very well.”

Dean took his last gulp and then stood up. ‘You’re not going to watch me sleep all night, are you?”

Cas let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll endeavor to give you some sort of privacy.”

“Thanks.” Dean turned toward the kitchen, thinking that he could stay up for another couple of hours, at least, and that he would kind of like Cas’s company . . . only to hear that familiar woosh. When he turned back the angel—er, God—was gone.

Dean shook his head. “You suck at goodbyes, man.”

 

~*~

           

Dean didn’t bother undressing. He didn’t crawl beneath the covers either. He just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he had the guts to ask one last question. The big question.

No. The big question was about Sammy. Sammy came first, always. Sammy was his kid brother. Sammy was his responsibility. Sammy was the one who kept him human.  Still, this last question was almost as important.

He put his hands behind his head. “Cas? Cas, you got a minute? I have one last question for you.”

No answer.

“Um, it’s still Cas, right? Should I be saying Lord now?” He shrugged a little. “Maybe HaShem or something? I mean, in case the lore is right and Hebrew really is your favorite language.”

There was the faintest woosh sound—and then Cas was there, sitting right on the edge of the bed. “Cas is fine. Although I do enjoy Hebrew.”

Dean cracked a smile at that as he sat up. “Hey. Thanks for coming back.”

“What did you want to ask?”

“Just one more thing.” Dean stared down at his hands and then cleared his throat. “You said that, ah, me merging with you would bring me assurances. And peace.”

“It would, yes.”

Dean forced himself to look up. “You said that I wouldn’t want us to merge. To lose myself.”

“Correct.”

“Okay.  But what if—what if, somewhere down the road, when I knew Sammy was okay, when—I don’t know. When I felt like I gave as much as I could, you know? When I get there, if I asked for us to merge, would you be okay with that?”

Castiel’s face was expressionless as he answered. And his voice was its usual deadpan . . . but a really intense kind of deadpan. “If you asked to surrender your will to mine? To become one with me—to let me overpower you? That is what you’d be asking for, Dean. It would be an eternity of completeness and wholeness—an eternity of rest. But you would no longer be you.”

“If—” Dean broke off and shrugged. “If that’s how it works.”

“Well, it is a path to abiding peace.” Cas considered him. “And if I thought that you really wanted it—that you needed it and were ready for it—then I would say yes.”

“But?”

It was Cas’s turn to shrug. “But you are one of my favorites. And I enjoy your company. And so a part of me, at least, hopes that you will keep choosing freedom over peace.”

Dean looked him in the eyes. “Well, maybe I will. I mean, I’d hate for you to get lonely. But to keep going—I think it will help to know that the other option is out there.”

“It will stay an option. I promise.”

Dean felt his shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you. I’m, uh, going to go to sleep now.”

“Of course.” Cas rolled his eyes. “Now you want me gone.”

“No.” Damn it, how did Cas still manage that kicked-puppy look? “I mean—look, it is creepy, but if you really want to stay and watch me sleep, well . . . whatever.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean rolled over, facing away from him. “Night.”

He fell asleep so fast that he had no idea whether or not Cas stayed. He didn’t dream that night either—not that he ever remembered. It was as if, for a few hours, his brain shut down while his body and his soul agreed that there was nothing more he could do for anyone.

Maybe he had Cas to thank. Maybe Cas figured that he had finally earned a little piece of oblivion.

 

-The End-

 

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